


Like A Truck

by Hessanite



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), College AU, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), M/M, broganes, extreme fluff, haven't decided - Freeform, hunk is the best, idk wanted fluff up the wazoo, might be HunkxShay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hessanite/pseuds/Hessanite
Summary: Two things hit Keith Kogane like a truck. Illnesses, and crushes.And he gets a two-for-one deal.





	1. Initial Ripples

**Author's Note:**

> things I am not qualified in any way to talk about: college, make up, relationships.   
> things this story is about: college, make up, relationships.  
> Enjoy my first modern college AU?

Two things can hit Keith Kogane with the unsubtle power of a truck.

Illnesses that shouldn't be possible to get, and crushes on cute boys. He's currently got one of them.

As he tries his best to get his breath back after a vomitting  _fit of hell_ , he hears the bathroom door open. And shit if he looks up, hoping Shiro got his message and arrived to rescue him from school, and he freezes at the sight of someone who is decidedly  _not Shiro._

Another cramping twist of nausea solves any question as to why he's hunched over a public bathroom toilet at 8:30 am in a college campus. He would be embarrassed that a stranger sees him like this, but as he can't really focus on anything without his contacts-he forgot them this morning when he woke up late- and he's fucking miserable as all get-out, he ignores them.

Until delightfully cool fingers scoop up his sweaty long hair, and gentle comforting pressure rubs his back, and he stops puking long enough to regain his breath through a throat raw from illness. He feels awful, but whoever this guy is, he's speaking in a nice soothing tone, nonsense that actually doesn't agravate his pounding pulsing headache, and it's nice.

He blinks the watery film from his eyes when he hears something that sounds like a question. He can't see the guy's face yet, but he tries to focus on the soft voice.

"Have you called anyone? Do you need me to call someone to pick you up?"

"N-no..." Keith's voice is raw, wrecked. "I've called someone. He should be coming," He cracks out.

"Can you drink some water? Probably not the best flavor, vomit," The guy says, a short chuckle as he offers a blurry water bottle.

Keith takes it with a shaking hand and rinses his mouth, spitting into the toilet, then taking a proper sip. Bile has made his saliva horrible tasting, and phlegm makes swallowing a stringy messy chore, on top of painful. But the water's nice, and it helps his cramped gut a bit. His tongue feels thick and horrible.

He fumbles for his glasses, thrown carelessly away when he initially offered up his stomach contents to the toilet gods, and while he must've grabbed them by a lens and now there's a blurry grease spot on one, he can finally see his companion and nearly swallows his tongue.

_Why the fuck?_ He doesn't have the strength to deal with this right now, so he leans his head against the wall, staring at the boy before him. A very pretty and totally crush-worthy boy.

Which Keith knows because that second thing that hits him like a truck? Just hit him like a fucking train.

Soft-looking dark skin, short hair two shades darker, and wide blue eyes staring with concern. He's sitting on the floor, crouching really, and he's gotta be tall because that is a  _lot_ of leg. He's dressed fairly plain, in a olive green hoodie and a grey shirt, with jeans and sneakers. And  _shit he's really pretty and fucking hell I was just vomitting in front of him_.

His face must be red, because mystery crush boy presses a long slender hand to his sweaty forehead and Keith is pretty sure he's dying at the unsubtle squeak he makes.

Shiro walks in then, in his tall muscular glory, and Keith wonders if Shiro will offer a nice funeral because mystery crush doesn't notice, just talking about how high his temperature is, and that he should drink more water, and Shiro  _knows,_ he must by the knee-jerk millisecond smirk he gets before he walks forward and announces his presence.

"Keith, got your message. How you doing, buddy?" Mystery boy backs off now that help has arrived, and Keith can breath normally through the sick rattle to his chest and raw ache in his throat. At least sick-normal.

"I'm sick, duh." He croaks like a frog, and he hopes mystery boy doesn't leave right away.

"Why did you go to class if you were just gonna hug a toilet?" Shiro looks a little smug under his concern. He seems to have a sixth sense for Keith's crushes. Which is weird because they make up for their suddeness by being really fucking rare. He's had a total of what, three, since he met Shiro. Shiro shouldn't be able to tell.

Mystery boy doesn't leave. He's kinda hovering.

"Wasn't that bad. Was gonna go home and rest after class, but then the nausea hit, and I've been stuck here..." He raises his arm to glare at his phone. "Three hours?" It was 8:30 just a minute ago? "I sent the text at 8:30."

Mystery boy and Shiro both raise eyebrows. "Dude, you need a better phone plan if it took this long to get your text through," Mystery boy said knowledgably. Like he regularly insults other people's phone plans.

"I just got your text a few minutes ago," Shiro says at the same time, proving it when he offers his phone. Sure enough, it says received 10 minutes ago.

Keith groaned, and that  _didn't_ help, because he fumbles for the toilet again. Nothing comes up. He's feeling hazy again, and now his nose isn't congested, it's running. Shiro pulls out a thermometer, and Keith obediently sticks it under his tongue.

"Probably just the flu. Let me guess, achy and cold and headache to go with your nausea?" The thermometer beeped, and Shiro checks the reading. "Small fever. Just under 100°." He pops away the tool, and smooths back Keith's hair. "Come on, let's get you home."

Keith is helped to his feet.

"Does this kinda thing happen often, that you need to carry an  _actual_ thermometer around?" Mystery boy grabs up Keith's backback, shoving in notebooks and textbooks where Keith must not have fully closed it before bolting to the bathroom. Shit, is his laptop okay in there after dropping it? He can't replace that thing, it's got essays saved to it.

Not that he could focus on completing them. Even his phone screen, with it's all-the-way down brightness, kinda hurts his eyes.

"Keith gets sick with the undying subtlety of a truck. He's fine, or appears to be, one hour, and the next, he's hunched over a toilet, sacrificing his lunch to the toilet gods."

_If toilet gods exist, kill me now._

Toilet gods do not, apparently, exist. 

"So thanks for helping  _my brother_. Keith doesn't really like asking for help. What's your name, kid?" Bless Shiro. Shiro is pefect and precious. Establishing relationship, and asking for mystery boy's name, all in one. Subtle, though the emphasis was a bit much.

" _Thee_ one and only, Lance Mclain. And seriously, no problem. Happy to help."

They're walking to Shiro's car, Keith is reasonably sure. He now has a name, mental picture, and basic personality for this crush he's got.

Shit. 

\---------------------

The next day, he's perfectly fine. Slightly tired, but his headache is gone and he has no fever. Shiro suggests he rests, but three classes he doesn't take is three classes he still has to pay for, and Shiro understands the struggle. Tells him to take it easy.

He doesn't. The drudgery of a college student doesn't really end, and he's sitting in the bathroom during his free period, typing frantically at his  _thank-gods-undamaged_ laptop, hoping to finish the conclusion to his essay before the deadline in an hour.

A squeak of a sneaker, and his head shoots up, startled.

Lance stands in the doorway, bags under his eyes, messy hair, skin drawn and pale, backpack and a hot coffee in his hands. 

Keith panics internally as Lance uncerimoniously dumps his bag, rumaging for a smaller pouch, and begins... applying makeup?

Within ten minutes, the eyes bags are gone, the skin glows, but there is somehow no trace of what the taller boy's applied. Make up magic.

"Wow."

Keith slaps a hand over his mouth as Lance spins around, looking panicked to hell, actually clutching his chest. Was this the first time he's noticed Keith was there?

By the blank terror, it is. And Keith feels bad for that.

"Sorry, it's just, you came in looking like you needed a coffee IV, and now you look kinda perfect?"  _Abortabortabortshutup!_

There's a high-pitched squeal emanating from Lance's chest, more like a keen.

"It's okay! Just, shit, calm down? I mean, you saw me vomitting right in to this toilet yesterday. It's cool."

Recognition flickers in the wide blue eyes. Lance draws in a ragged, slow breath. "Oh. Mullet. Keith. Okay..." Really? A comment on his hair? But Lance is visibly calming, hunched shoulders settling, eyes narrowing to normal proportions. Another, less ragged breath.

"Yeah. Mullet." Keith wants to wince at the deadpan his tone enters. Lance swallows visibly, Adam's apple bobbing.

"S-sorry for the mini-freak. It's just that-that I sometimes have trouble sleeping, and I feel like shit most of the time and make-up helps that but I've had bad experiences with people finding out about my make up and I always say I'm holding it for my friend Pidge even though we  _do not_ match well enough to share make up, they're better-looking in warm colors and cools suit me better, and Pidge wouldn't wear make up to save their life, but people believe it for some reason and, and, wait a second, you had the flu yesterday, why are you at school?"

Keith blinked, processing the rant. "I had classes? And I'm fine now. No headache or anything. Just ducked in here to finish one of my essays, you know?" He feels a weird flutter, sad, at the thought of this guy having bad experiences with people finding out one of his hobbies.

"Where'd you learn to do that anyway? The make up stuff?" He ignores the traitor flutter at the thought of maybe seeing it again. 

"The... mostly the Internet and practice? Helping my mom at the salon sometimes. That kinda thing." Lance is mumbling, staring down at his blue sneakers. He scuffs one against a drain in the floor.

"Your mom owns a salon?" 

"No, but I work with her during the summer." Lance is losing that last edge of panic. His eyes are sparkling and Keith shoves at the reaction that gives him. "Sweep, organize stock, that kinda thing."

"Well you're really good at make up? At least I think. Never seen it applied before, except in videos on Youtube. Not on a guy either, except for those boyfriend challenges."  _Don'tmentionboyfriendsnowhydidyouDOthat!?_

 

"A lot of it's universal. Like, between guys and girls. I just use nudes." Keith stares.

"What? Nudes?" Fucking hell, did he just  _squeak?_

Lance snorts at his expression. "Nudes are make up palettes that aren't meant to be seen. Like, it's meant to emphasize your skin and stuff, but not really  _add_ color. Helps even your skin tone out and stuff. And hide pimples and eyebags. Stuff like that. Not like, nude pics. That's dumb."

Hmmm, what was implied there? Something was implied, and Keith is not sure what.

"Anyway, I've got class in a few. See ya, Mullet!" Just like that, Lance leaves, backpack and coffee in hand. And make up bag abandoned on the counter, forgotten.

The bell covers his weak "Wait!" as Lance practically bolts away.

So now Keith has a bag of make up that isn't his? He can't just leave it. There's a lot of stuff that looks kinda expensive in that foam pencil pouch. Keith isn't sure, but he wouldn't want his things tossed by a janitor. And Lance probably had a rough time getting it if he was being secretive about having it.

Keith puts the thing in his bag. He'll return it next time he sees him.

\----------------

Six days. Every day in the bathroom for at least an hour, but Lance never comes.

Keith tries  _really hard_ not to worry.

it's a Monday, he's napping in the bathroom after  _not worrying_ about Lance when the door opens. He blinks, staring up a pair of long skinny jean-covered legs, over a grey-covered chest, to a face that is absolutely exhausted and on the verge of tears.

Lance flops down next to him with all the ceremony of an elephant. That is, none at all. Lance curls up, head in arms on knees, breathing raggedly.

"Hey..." Keith swallows at that worn, cracked voice. When was the last time this kid slept?

"Hi." Pause. "Wanna tell me what's wrong?" Because Lance is obviously  _not_ good, not okay. You aren't on the verge of tears over nothing. Keith never asks if someone's okay, because that offers the chance to use masks. And he genuinely wants to know.

"Stress. Haven't slept in... three days? Today's Monday, right? Probably failed a test, so there goes my GPA. And..." Lance pauses, then slumps alarmingly against Keith. "Homesick too." He sighed against Keith's shoulder.

Keith tries not to pull away. Lance obviously needs contact. "Where's home?" He understands homesickness little, but that doesn't mean he can be an ass to someone about it.

"Cuba. Veradero Beach."

Wow, that's far away. "Why are you up here in Arizona?"

"Scholarships. Got into Garrison for my mad skills. Wanted to be...something cool?" Lance tucks himself closer, completely unaware of Keith's internal panic.

That meant Lance was smart, right? "L-like what?" Keith swallowed hard. Lance is  _hugging_ him now.

"An astronaut or something. But I'm in astronomy. I decided space wasn't for me, and dropped the training, but now I work two jobs and I'm still in college hundreds of miles from home. Lucky to get a phone call a week from home." Lance was relaxing. Keith realized something.

"H-hey, Lance?" The taller boy made an acknowledging mumble. "You, ah left your make up here last time we saw each other. I have it in my bag? So I could give it back when I saw you again."

Lance pulled away, and goosebumps show the slight chill Keith got at the lack. "So that's where it went?" Tired, but a little less stressed. He had an almost sad glimmer to his eyes.

Keith fumbled for his backpack, pulling the plain blue pouch out. Lance accepted it with a frail smile, but stayed sitting next to him, not getting up.

"D-do you want to call for a friend? Someone you know better than a random stranger in a bathroom?" Keith knows instantly this is the wrong thing to say, because Lance freezes next to him.  _shitshitshit_

"I'm probably annoying you. Sorry. Just, I just... needed a quick break." Lance goes to stand, masks practically layering on his thin pale face. A wooden smile splits his face. "Can't have anyone know I break down in bath-" 

Keith yanked him back down, which wasn't hard at all. The boy's scrawny and thin and his wrist feels like bird bones.

"I wasn't trying to get rid of you, idiot. I just thought a friend who actually knows you might be better help. I'm not exactly good at the comfort thing. But if you're fine with me, I have  _no problem_ with you." Smooth, Kogane. Very fucking smooth. Yank the boy down and call him an idiot, why don't you?

Lance stares, then relaxes against the wall. "Oh. Well, Hunk can usually help, but he's at work. I don't wanna bother him for a little homesickness." He scrubs at his face. "Besides, it's stupid."

Keith scowled. "No it isn't. Not if you're walking around looking like you need to sleep for ten years and hug someone till they die." Lance grimaced. "You're really scrawny too, when was the last time you ate?"

Lance stared, baffled. Then he burst out laughing. Loudly.

Keith snorted sympathetically, but wasn't sure why.

"You sound like my mom," Lance cackled. "Ow, ow, my ribsss," He gasped, then kept cackling. Almost... uh oh. Hysterical. "Or, or, or my  _abuela_." Tears were running down the Cuban boy's face now, but he was still laughing.

Keith had no clue what to do. Slap him? Hug him? Run away?

So he stayed still. Waiting for the wild laughter to die down into a sob.

And now he was crying. Keith somehow expected loud tears, but after the initial sob, he was silent, shoulders shaking. Lance swallowed air as he cried, shaking with the effort to stay silent.

Keith hugged him rigidly, trying not to restrict movement or make Lance feel trapped. Lance melted into the hug, sighing as tears ran free.

"Thanks. Guess I haven't eaten since an apple sometime yesterday." Lance scrubbed his face clean of tears with a paper towel, grimacing at the red rims of his tired eyes.

Keith made a noise of anger at that, then rumaged in his bag for a chocolate bar-dark with almonds and  _fuck_ if he'll regret that later- and a water bottle.

He handed them to Lance. Lance raised an eyebrow, but took them and nibbled at the chocolate when Keith gestured him to. Once finished, he sighed and slumped against the wall again, careful distance between them. Keith handed his the small pillow behind his back next. 

"I'm not letting you leave until you take a nap and get something other than that chocolate bar in you. Stay put while I buy a sandwich." Fuck it he could afford it with what he had in his wallet. 

\-----------------

They talked while Lance ate half the sandwich, pushing the rest away with a mild discomfort. "Not a fan of cheese and tomato, Mullet, but thanks." 

"Nap. Now. For at least an hour." Keith glared when Lance started to get up.

"Why do you care? And why is it we always talk in bathrooms? That's  _weird_." Lance screwed his face up, thus missing Keith's flush. The taller boy was sprawled inelegantly against the wall, laying on his side with Keith's pillow under his head. 

Keith hummed noncomittally. "No clue. We just seemed destined for it," He said. And proceeded to nearly choke on his tongue once he realized what he said.  _Destiny? That's cheesy as fucking hell, no._

"Destined. Cute." Lance dropped off to sleep directly after that, snoring softly as Keith had a mini-freak out. It didn't help that Lance was a cuddler, because not five minutes into his nap, he grabbed Keith about the waist like a teddy bear. In no uncertain terms does Keith's situation hit him. 

"help," Keith squeaked, frantically looking away. He fumbled for his laptop, opening a chat with Shiro.

\-------------

**keithtypos**  has entered the chat:  **Math Sucks**

**keithtypos** : Shiro help

**(SpaceDad has entered the chat)**

**SpaceDad** : whats wrong?

**keithtypos:**  i have a guy sleeping on me in a bathroom he is cuddling me.

**SpaceDad:** omg keith why? 

**keithtypos:** _i dont fucken know?! Lance had a breakdown and needed a nap and i wasnt thinkin g and i bought him a sandwich and forced him to nap and now hes cuddling me?.._

**_SpaceDad:_ ** _Lance?! Crush-Lance? The dude who was helping you last week? THAT LANCE?!?_

**_keithtypos:_ ** _HOW MANY FUCKING LANCES DO WE BOTH KNOW.???!_

**_SpaceDad:_ ** _This is actually worth waking up for. I'll come get you. Same bathroom as last time, right? Legit laughing so hard rn._

_\-------------_

Keith resists the urge to scream in frustrated outrage at that last message. Lance simply cuddles closer.

 

 


	2. A Good Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk is just trying to sleep, damnit

The phone was ringing with a distinctive tone that Hunk had taught himself to react to even from the depths of slumber. And just like every time he responded, he wanted only to sleep. It was like Lance had a sixth sense for when he was asleep.

"Hunk, I just fucked up  _so_ badly. Like, end of the world shit right here," Lance said the second he picked up.

Hunk blinked. Yawned.

"I, I just woke up from a nap, right? And I was sleeping on a guy in a public bathroom.  _A really cute guy,_ Hunk. And not only did I fall asleep on him, I had a freaking breakdown beforehand! A  _breakdown!_ Sobbing, hysterical laughter, the  _works_. And, and, oh my god he bought me a sandwich too and-!"

Hunk was only human. So he started snickering.

"Not funny, dude! I can never go back to that bathroom again. And legit nobody else goes there, cuz it's inconvenient for anything other that hookups, so it was perfect until I fucking creeped on Keith!"

Hunk sobered, though a knowing grin lurked under his impassive tone. "Keith? The dude who got that one-day flu and saw you with make up?"

Lance  _froze up_. "Th-that's another thing!  _He_ had my make up, and gave it back after I broke down, like, who  _does_ that? Some weird guy with make up and a tendency to overspeak to strangers in bathrooms, and he. Didn't.  _Run._ "

"Ever consider that there are some people besides Pidge and me who aren't, you know, assholes?"

"But he actually  _helped. Didn't_ freak out, he helped. He would totally be justified for bolting, I must've looked like a freak!"

Oh dear. "Lance, chillax. He helped. So he probably doesn't think you're a freak. Or, maybe, he wanted to repay the favor?"

"Favor?" 

Hunk dragged one hand down his face, resisting the urge to groan.

"For you helping him, when he was sick?"

"I was there for like, ten minutes before his brother got there. I held his hair and offered some water. That's it. No need for return favors. Anyone decent woulda done the same." Lance suddenly sounded flustered. Hunk is back to grinning.

"Except you normally hold favors over people's heads. Unless-!"

"Shut up!" Lance's voice cracked into a shriek, and Hunk can almost feel the heat coming off his friend's face through the phone.

"If you blush any harder, you might melt the phone."

"Not!" Lance huffs. "I. Am not blushing. The Great Lance does not blush."

"Need I remind you of Nyma?" He had been red for three days straight.

"She handcuffed me to a tree! Not my finest moment."

"You're telling me. I had to pick the locks." Because Lance was kind of a drama queen.

"I never did ask where you learned to do that," Lance hinted with the subtle air of a fart.

"And you will never learn from me," Hunk snorted.

" _Hunk_!"

\-------------

Lance entered the bathroom again the next day. And he was honestly surprised Keith wasn't there.  _Did you think he lived here, idiotia?_

But the coast was clear, and there was no awkwardness beyond what he himself felt, because the room was empty.

 _Honestly shocked this place isn't a makeout hang out,_ Lance considered, rumaging for his make up bag. The soft foam was ripped on one side, and he wondered how briefly, before remembering Keith had had it. Maybe he regularly carried sharp objects? Slightly worrying.

Either way he began the process of putting on make up. He really didn't put much on- some foundation and a light concealer to hide his eye bags (the college student never rests!), a bit of this and that to transform a tired, stressed college student into a peppy class clown.

 _"... and now you look kinda perfect?"_ Lance blinked, seeing himself pink slightly in the mirror. 

He hid his face in his hands.  _I broke down babbling about homesickness, right in front of a person I'd met only twice before. And then napped on him! And he had to buy me a sandwich. And it's only made worse by the fact that he's like, really cute?_

His head tapped against the sink, and he groaned in embarrassment. He was suddenly very sure that never seeing Keith was the only chance he had to never die from blushing. 

_Can't have anyone know I break down in bathrooms with cute strangers, right?_

He was  _very_ glad he'd been unceremoniously yanked back down, because that shut his traitor mouth.

The door opened. Lance's head snapped up in panic. And there was Keith, backpack in hand, dark mullet pulled into a  _completely unfair_ ponytail at the nap of his neck, dark almost-violet blue eyes wide with surprise.

Lance snorted out a laugh. "We gotta stop meeting in places like this. People will start to talk," He quipped. But literally nobody would say a word, because Lance suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that the bathroom was in a pocket dimension where only they, the janitor, and invited guests could enter.

Keith flushed in surprise, and Lance straightened from the sink, gathering up make up into the blue pouch. Time to leave, timetoleave _timetoleave._

"Maybe we could arrange a meeting outside the bathroom?" Lance stared at the shorter boy, who had gone briefly red, then white as he spoke.

"O-oh? Where?" And what exactly would such interaction be classified as?

"Maybe coffee? We could... not talk in a bathroom?" 

Lance swallowed.  _God, I must be the most obvious thing ever._

"Sure. What time?"

**Author's Note:**

> okay so Lance wearing make up is kinda self indulging? I never wear it unless I've got big plans, but I know some people find it confidence-boosting and I think Lance would too. Boys wearing make up kinda gives me life.


End file.
